


it's good to be young, but let's not kid ourselves

by rillrill



Category: Veep
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 13:53:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rillrill/pseuds/rillrill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"You brought me apple juice and Adderall."</i> Dan/Amy, high school debate team AU. (It was a silly random thought that soon could not be un-thought.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's good to be young, but let's not kid ourselves

At the beginning of her senior year, there are three things Amy Brookheimer knows to be true:

1\. She is going to get into Yale early action,  
2\. She is going to lead the Manchester West debate team to its second consecutive victory, and  
3\. Daniel Egan, who had transferred from Holy Ghost halfway through the previous year, is not going to usurp her as team captain.

 

The first part is supposed to be easy.

She has taken the SAT and ACT three times and has near-perfect scores on both. Her unblemished academic record features both AP and IB classes, a healthy mix of sports (lacrosse and tennis) and extracurriculars (debate and student government). She volunteers at the senior center and the food bank. She split the summer after her junior year between a Yale precollege program and a volunteer trip to South America. She has a pregnant older sister and just enough strife at home - a briefly unemployed father, a breadwinner mom - to win points for Inner Strength (never mind that her dad only lost his job after the financial crash laid waste to his mortgage lending firm's operations). On paper, she has it together.

In real life, it's another story.

 

The first day of school feels like a reckoning.

It's sticky hot and humid, and everyone's still wearing their summer clothes, shorts and loose tank tops, albeit with new backpacks and shoes. She feels painfully out of place in loafers and a Brooks Brothers button-down, doing good White Girl Prep like she's done since middle school. Amy thinks of herself as perpetually 35, not just smarter but fundamentally more mature than her classmates. She doesn't need to sow her wild oats or dance in the rain in her best dress or whatever everyone else is doing. She's fine as it is. She's over it. Cool, calm and collected.

Anyway, the first day back is boring, it's all old hat. The one upside is the senior class retreat at the end of the week, a weekend away at a campground where the entire class is supposed to bond with the people they've known, befriended, and fought with for the past three years already. It makes no sense - why not have a freshman retreat instead? - but she slides the permission slip into her binder and makes a note in her immaculate day planner.

The other upside is the first debate meeting, set for the following Monday - Ms. Meyer already confirmed that yes, she's team captain again, and yes, there's a lot riding on this year's captaincy given their narrow victory at state last year. But she's up for it.

And then there's the other thing, which is the issue of Dan Egan, who is somehow in five of her six classes this year and who slides into the seat beside her in IB International Studies with a stupid perpetual smirk on his face, running a hand through his deliberately rumpled hair in what might be the most choreographed affectation of casual coolness she's seen outside of a One Direction video. She gives him a disdainful look, and he shoots her a grin.

God, she vehemently does not like this guy. And not just in the way that Elizabeth Bennett does not like Mr. Darcy or Lily Evans does not like James Potter or basically any other fictional woman does not like her love interest at the beginning of their narrative. She's smarter than that, and she's also perceptive enough to see past the haircut and the fact that he drives a Lexus. (What seventeen year old drives a Lexus? So gross.) Dan's good-looking, but he's also a motherfucker. As evidenced by his little sneer when he turns to Amy and mutters, "So, how was your summer? Shuck and jive for the College Board much?"

She raises one eyebrow as she fixes her gaze on her day planner and responds, "Not all of us are Dartmouth legacies, Danny." Which is, like, so true. Could he be any more of a Dartmouth asshole?

And he responds in typical Dartmouth asshole fashion: "Well, enjoy your year of perpetual disappointment. By the way, have you heard from Meyer yet?"

"About debate? Yeah." She clicks her pen and starts doodling an airplane in the margin of Monday, August 29. "Tough luck for you, I guess. Alternate captain? Sucks."

Out of her peripheral vision, she can see his grin widen, and he bites into his next words like a renaissance king tearing into a turkey leg: "Alternate captain? Oh, no. You haven't heard. I'm co-captain now, Ames."

And, like, fuck that.

 

 

It takes about two hours for the reality of this statement to sink in, which only happens after she bursts into Ms. Meyer's classroom with a well-timed "What the crap?!"

It doesn't really matter what she says. She's already lost. "I'm sorry, Amy, we just really can't afford to chance it this year, especially as the defending champions," Ms. Meyer says, and she's so fucking over this.

"Dan's a jerk, and you know it."

"Unfortunately, he's a competent jerk. And I have a feeling that in a position of leadership, he'll be much more than competent. He transferred from Holy Ghost. We know they're our competition - why not use it?"

Amy exhales hard, fuming inside. "Because he hasn't earned it. I've been doing this since my freshman year. You know me, you know what I can do."

"I do. Which is why you're still a captain. Don't think of it as a demotion - it's more like a redistribution of responsibilities."

But you can't have two captains on a ship. And sure as anything, Amy is positive that she's going to end up as Dan's first mate if she doesn't fight like hell.

 

 

The senior retreat is uneventful.

You're generally supposed to hook up with someone during the senior retreat, but Amy doesn't bother trying to make this happen. Jonah Ryan has been trying to touch her boobs for the past two years, but she'd rather ride a bicycle naked around the entire campground than end up being the girl who hooks up with Jonah Ryan at the senior retreat, so she rolls her eyes and brushes him off and goes back to the recreational volleyball game.

 

There's a moment on a night hike, the last night of the retreat, where she feels someone grab her hand in the dark and it's kind of exciting and her heart and stomach do a little kickline. But it's pitch black except for the hike leader's flashlight, and she doesn't want to spoil the moment. So she holds this mystery hand until whoever it is lets go. And then she lets it go herself.

 

 

So the team this year isn't really that great.

They've got their work cut out for them, that's all. Team meetings take priority over sports (she's second string on the varsity lacrosse team anyway, all the better to just show up to the yearbook photo and the home games without much enthusiasm) and, for some people, academics.

And it doesn't really help that Dan is undermining her at literally every opportunity - changing meeting times to make her late, arguing for the sake of argument, just generally being a massive shit for no reason.

"Ooh, Amy," he says in that stupid smarmy asshole voice when she finally snaps, pulls him into the hallway, and tells him to shut up. "Getting stressed there? Are you sure you can handle the pressure?"

"Fuck the fuck off," she hisses, folding her arms tightly across her chest. "You are antagonizing me for no reason and it's setting a bad example for the team. I don't want us to have to get our asses kicked in competition before you stop acting like a massive shitstain."

Dan is looking at her with that little smile again, all smug and pleased with himself, and it's literally all she can do in order to not haul off and smack him full across the face. "What? Why are you smiling, asshole?"

He laughs a little - not a full laugh, just a little chortle. "Because you're really hot when you're angry."

Amy feels her chest and cheeks get red with something that's either rage or embarrassment, and this time she almost does hit him. "Real nice, Dan. Super mature. 'Oh, I'm only being a dick because you're so hot!' What, are you going to pull my hair and chase me around the playground so I'll kiss you? News flash: girls don't actually like that shit."

"Oh?" He looks her over hard. "Then I guess I've been going about this all wrong."

"Fuck off." She spins on her heel to head back into the classroom, but with one hand on the doorknob she stops and adds, "Come back in once you come up with a better excuse. And if you can't come up with one, don't come back at all."

She lets the door slam behind her and resumes practice as usual. He doesn't come back in at all.

 

 

Predictably, they get their asses kicked at their first competition. It's not a real one - or at least, it doesn't really effect their statewide standing - but it hurts, and they get chewed out by Ms. Meyer on the bus headed home.

Amy's sitting near the front, her legs pulled up in front of her so she can balance her trig book on her knees. Dan and Jonah are across the aisle: Jonah chattering about some girl he banged over the weekend, and Dan staring out the window, occasionally interjecting with a "Yeah?" or a "Dude, nice."

They don't make eye contact during the hourlong ride back to the school.

 

 

The week before Christmas, there's a tournament at Columbia University. They pile into cars at five in the morning in the school parking lot and Dan drives his Lexus while Amy sits in the passenger seat of Ms. Meyer's Prius and alternately dozes off and reviews her cards.

Half an hour before prelims, she walks outside to breathe. The air is cool and crisp but not quite freezing, and she wraps her arms around herself, trying to keep as much body heat as she can inside her thin blazer and button-down.

"Hey." Dan's behind her, and she turns around and raises her eyebrows.

"Hey."

He seems to take this as an invitation, and sidles over to stand beside her. He's got a bottle of apple juice in one hand. "I brought you this."

Amy pauses. "Why?"

"Peace offering." He holds it out, smiling a little. "C'mon. I paid a whole three bucks for this."

"You overpaid." She hesitates, then reluctantly takes the bottle and twists it open. "But thanks."

"No problem." Dan smiles as she takes a sip. "You ready?"

"Yeah. Duh. Born ready. Whatever. You?"

He runs his long fingers through his hair before answering. "Yeah. Totally."

They fall silent after that, Amy taking small sips of apple juice and Dan staring across the Columbia campus. It's an oddly comfortable sort of quiet, and Amy is surprised by how at ease she feels in this moment. The morning sun is hitting his face in a way that brings each of his faint freckles into a sharper relief than she's used to. He looks oddly vulnerable, even wearing a suit and tie, and she realizes that it's because for the first time since she's know him, Daniel Egan is worried.

"What are you looking at?" He turns to her, eyes glinting. Amy takes a hasty sip.

"Nothing. Just - a trick of the light."

"Aha." And, without warning, he slips a One-a-Day Vitamins bottle out of his pocket. "Adderall?"

"Seriously?"

"We need all the help we can get."

And Amy's no angel, okay? So she sighs, and looks around to make sure no one can see them - because that's all she fucking needs, to get disqualified and possibly kicked out of the National Forensics League - before letting Dan place one of the tablets on her open palm. She throws it back and swallows quickly, mumbling "This better not be a fucking roofie," and Dan laughs and says "Don't flatter yourself." Which is so him.

They do all right. They come home with a trophy. It isn't as big as she'd like, but that's life. She pounds out two college essays on the drive back.

 

 

She doesn't sleep through Christmas break. It's not Adderall this time. It's the college thing.

Her Yale application is in. There's nothing she can do other than sit in her room and try to relax, which entails color-coding her closet, alphabetizing her bookshelves, meticulously dusting everything in her trophy case, and doing crunches and lunges while watching Keira Knightley movies. Her parents don't ask too many questions.

The bigger problem, the one that compelled her parents to send her to three child psychologists before the age of 12, is that Amy hates not being in control. She hates feeling like any aspect of her life is out of her own hands. She hates being stuck here, in the suburbs on a freezing cold snowy night during Christmas break. She hates feeling like a child. She hates that her relationships at school are purely shallow - she hasn't had a best friend since junior high. She's not openly hated by anyone, but she has a hard time thinking of anyone who actually really likes her.

 

 

Dan shows up at her house four days later, wondering if she wants to hang out (ostensibly to work on their fledgling cease-fire). "Thank God," she says. "I was running out of shit to clean."

"Huh?"

"Nothing."

They sit outside in his Lexus, parked on the street but with the motor and heat still running, and chat idly about everything and nothing. Amy crosses her arms in front of her, feeling oddly exposed in her lacrosse team hoodie. She can't remember the last time someone from school saw her outside of her neat, pressed J. Crew separates. Dan's in a perfectly beat-up rugby tee and old jeans and he looks good. Really good. It's okay that she's noticing, though, she rationalizes to herself. She's not interested in him, but she's still a young woman who can appreciate a dude in a fitted t-shirt.

They take a drive around town, stop for ice cream even though it's 21 degrees out, cruise around listening to a Kendrick Lamar playlist Dan has on his phone and chatting. She's smiling when he drops her at her curb again. Sometimes it's nice to just be around someone else, she thinks.

 

 

He kisses her three weeks later, in the dark school hallway after a late practice.

She pulls away, hesitates. "What are we doing?"

"What do you think?" Dan puts his hands on her shoulders, an arm's length away, and fixes her with a serious look. "We've been building to this for a year and a half. C'mon. Even Jonah keeps asking when I'm gonna make a move. Though I think that was because he wanted to hit on you himself -"

"Dude. You gotta get new friends."

"I know. That guy's the worst." Amy's stomach twists as Dan bites his lip, and even though she's sure he's practiced that move a hundred times in the bathroom mirror, she can't deny that it's having the intended effect.

This time it's Amy who kisses first, on tiptoe in the dim hall.

 

 

He drives her home and they make out in his car that night.

"You brought me apple juice and Adderall," she mutters as she grabs her backpack and puts a hand on the door handle. "I should've known."

He laughs. It's not a mean laugh. It's actually kind of nice. "I figured that'd do it for you," he says.

She doesn't have a comeback ready this time. She's okay with that.

 

 

She gets into Yale.

In the spring semester, the team takes home first place at state.

In April, Dan hands her his Dartmouth acceptance letter with a smirk.

"Asshole," she grumbles. "Have fun drinking yourself into a coma at your frat initiation."

"With pleasure," he says, and she kisses him to shut him up.

They place eighth at nationals.

Everything is okay. For a while. Which is all she really needs.


End file.
